


Site number 24

by lwise2019



Series: Mikkel's Story [5]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 15:08:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21340222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lwise2019/pseuds/lwise2019
Summary: Mikkel waits outside while Sigrun and Emil ransack a library.
Series: Mikkel's Story [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536739
Kudos: 13





	Site number 24

The Old World had died, but it had gone down fighting. A steel fence stretched from building to building as far as they could see, separating them from their goal. It would have stopped most grosslings — the smallest could have gotten through but they would have been dealt with by cats — but something had created a large gap in the fence. At Sigrun's gesture, Tuuri stopped the tank long enough for Sigrun to examine the fence carefully through the window. “Did a giant do that?” Tuuri asked in a dismayed tone.

“No,” Sigrun answered thoughtfully, “that was cut, not torn. Humans did this.”

“Mikkel, did your people come here?”

“No, we —“

“Nah, this is old. See the rust, there and there? The cuts must be as old as the fence, or nearly.” Mikkel subsided. His input was not required.

“You mean, they put up this big fence and then cut through it?”

“Somebody did. You see a lot of strange things in Old World cities. Things must have got kind of crazy at the end.” Sigrun shrugged, dismissing it. “Drive on.” Tuuri drove on through the gap in the fence.

Unlike some of the other streets they'd passed, the street beyond was neither clogged with decaying vehicles nor cleared by something pushing or even hurling vehicles out of the way. No, this street had been kept clear with vehicles neatly parked to either side, and Mikkel wondered if there simply hadn't been any attempt to flee the city along this road, or if someone had kept it clear in hopes of … what? Return to normal life? Escape? Rescue? There hadn't been a lot of escapes _or_ rescues when the cities died, but there had been a few. He resolved that, if he made it back to Bornholm alive, he'd try to find out what happened here.

They kept to the north, sunny, side of the street. Many of the buildings had lost their roofs or even collapsed, which made them unlikely to harbor grosslings. Still, there were a few … Emil was focused on something in a window. Mikkel couldn't see what it was: a grossling? A tree growing up through the floor? Just a shadow?

Impossible to tell.

The tank had been made as quiet as possible, but still its treads clattered over fallen pieces of vehicles and buildings so Sigrun ordered Tuuri to drive fast in the hope that, “By the time some grossling might get the great idea of trying to attack us we'll be long gone. Out of sight, out of mind. And if something **does** start following us, me and Emil will jump right out and take care of it! Isn't that right, Emil?”

Emil's response, “Uh-huh. Yeah,” was good enough for Sigrun, but Mikkel privately thought he'd better be ready to back up the younger man to whatever degree he could. It was perfectly clear that Sigrun believed Emil a warrior like herself, and also perfectly clear that she was wrong.

* * *

Site number 24 was a large, solid building in relatively good shape, even boasting an intact and locked front door, though Mikkel's crowbar made short work of the lock. The interior was a disappointment as some of the walls near the door had partially collapsed, forcing Sigrun to scramble over fallen beams to enter. The windows were crusted over from years of dust and leaves, making the interior gloomy and requiring flashlights even in the bright sunshine.

Sigrun entered alone at first, leaving the three men hovering by the door. “You stay there. I'll make sure the place isn't a total death trap. I'll be back in a heartbeat.”

Mikkel watched intently, trying to spot what the experienced Hunter was checking. One day he might have to do this himself, or Emil might with his help. She seemed to be particularly checking for potential points of entry, and for any disturbance of the debris on the floor.

“Looks clean enough. I don't see anything that points to a nest. We can carry on. First, ground rules! Number one: we stay together! No wandering off on your own and getting lost in there. Number two: firearms are our last resort weapon. A cold blade through the brain is just as effective as any bullet, and most importantly won't wake the whole block. If your life **really** depends on it, sure, dish out some lead. But that also means the gig is up and we all better start running out and to the tank! Got it?”

“Got it,” Emil mumbled. Lalli said nothing, as one might expect since he hadn't understood a word of her announcement.

“That's all the rules! Stay together, blade before bullets! Let's go!” Sigrun finished.

Mikkel was torn. Respond enthusiastically (or at least as enthusiastically as Emil) to her call for action, or present what he thought was a better plan. He needed to be seen as a reliable subordinate, but still …

“I believe I should stay outside,” he answered her quietly.

“Oh good, you think so too. I wasn't sure if I should bring this up. I mean, you **would** be useful for carrying whatever we find. But with your size I'm worried that you'll get stuck in some doorway and block us from getting back out.”

Mikkel stiffened and allowed himself to grind his teeth briefly. He was certainly larger than the tiny scout, and both taller and broader than Emil or Sigrun, but he suspected that he was stronger than all three of them combined. There was not a kilogram – well, not many kilograms – of fat on him, and he most assuredly wasn't stupid enough to get stuck anywhere.

“Yes, **thank you** for your concern,” he replied as evenly as he could manage. “I **personally** think someone should stand guard out here and also keep Tuuri company.”

“Great, so we have **many** good reasons to leave you out here. Glad we got that resolved. Bye now!” Sigrun replied cheerfully, having apparently completely missed his body language. It seemed that hunting grosslings didn't offer a lot of training in social interaction.

Mikkel fumed, watching her charge back into the building. At any other time, he'd have been plotting pranks against her, but he _couldn't_, not here and not now. He consciously tamped down his emotions then turned to Emil. It was time to end _that_ prank as part of his resolution to be a good subordinate.

“Let's get that bandage off. We wouldn't want you to be distracted by it in there,” he said as clearly as he could in hopes the Swede could follow his words.

“Off? You think that's wise? It's only been on for a day. I don't want to risk cancer.”

“Bruises don't cause cancer.”

“… Huh?”

“I made that up.”

“Why?!”

“It was a joke,” Mikkel replied, removing the bandage and thriftily pocketing it.

“It's not a joke if it's not funny!”

“Well, _I_ was amused.”

Emil glared at him for a moment, then grabbed Lalli's hand and dragged him along in Sigrun's wake, muttering as he went, “It wasn't funny!”

Mikkel watched them go, hoping that Emil was the forgiving sort. He needed to do something to make it up to the man he had humiliated, for hostility between the team members could imperil them all. With a sigh, he turned back to survey the street. It was only later, when they were scrubbing their clothing in a stream, that he would learn what happened during the next two hours inside site number 24.

In the meantime, he waited by the door, occasionally pacing a hundred meters or so either way and peering in through broken windows, doors, and walls. Each time he passed the tank, he and Tuuri waved at each other. She was clearly bored — so was he, come to that — but she was following orders, sitting in the driver's seat with her mask on, ready to flee at the tank's rather pitiful top speed if the time came.

Eventually the others came rushing out, Sigrun and Emil beaming with joy and loaded down with books, books in good shape! Even though he'd agreed to come along in hopes of salvaging such things, Mikkel hadn't really believed, up to that moment, that they'd find anything truly valuable. They piled the books in his arms and dashed back inside to gather more. The books went into the decontamination section of the tank, cruelly tempting Tuuri as she could see them but was not permitted to enter and touch them, for Mikkel was still sticking with the protocol laid down by their sponsors.

What they were doing in gathering books was not illegal, so far as Mikkel knew, but all of the paperwork on the expedition from the Nordic Council described its purpose as exploration, with no mention of collecting books or indeed anything else. Since Admiral Olsen had laughed in talking to Torbjörn about "unauthorized looting", Mikkel had gathered that the entire expedition was a pretext set up by the sponsors to profit by sale of salvaged books, and that that part of the project had been kept a secret from the Council which was financing it. As he didn't like authority, particularly in the form of the Nordic Council, he had no great objection to working behind their backs.

The explorers made several more trips and Mikkel had put together three tidy piles in the tank when there was a long delay. He hesitated in the doorway, wondering if they might have run into trouble — but surely the three of them could handle anything in there. Sigrun wouldn't have led the young men into too much danger … would she? And how would she react if he ran in to help them? Especially if they didn't need help?

He had almost decided to run in anyway, when the ground shook and smoke and debris burst from the windows and doors. An explosion! Mikkel shouted to Tuuri to start the engine because they were leaving _immediately_ and had just turned back when Sigrun and Emil stumbled out, choking. “Why are there only two of you?! Where's Lalli?!” he shouted urgently.

“Wha —? Where is —? Lalli! We have to go back in and —” Emil had only gotten that far when a crack overhead prompted Mikkel to spin around.

A body falling — his arms out to catch — the impact driving him to his knees. He stood, cradling Lalli in his arms. If not for the deep drift of dirt and dead leaves that cushioned the pavement, he knew he'd certainly have broken something. As it was, his knees would be black and blue for days before turning interesting shades of green and yellow.

Lalli jerked out of his arms and the four of them ran for their lives to the tank which Tuuri had already set in motion along the predetermined path of retreat. In the decontamination section, Mikkel had scarcely confirmed with Tuuri that she could find the retreat spot on her own, when another crisis arose.

Sigrun was absolutely thrilled! Being chased by grosslings and having a building blown up around her was the sort of thing that a Hunter like her lived for! In her excitement, she embraced Emil, crying, “Wasn't that the **awesomest!?!** I had my doubts, but there's some viking in you after all! We'll make a great team! You and me and the little forest mage guy! We'll wreck this old city up real good, and take everything we find! **What do you say?! _Are you with me!?!_**”

The other three were not thrilled. Lalli cringed into a corner as far from her as he could manage; Emil tried to smile and be brave before the stress overcame him and he lost his lunch on the floor. Mikkel decided he had to take a hand, telling Sigrun quietly, “I say it's time for us to wind down,” and pushing her gently but firmly into a corner to wait while he tried to organize the cleanup.

The vomit had to be cleaned up first, as he didn't want the stench to set off anyone else (especially himself), but their clothing was a problem for Emil in particular was filthy, covered from head to toe with grossling slime, and Sigrun wasn't a lot better. The Rash wouldn't live long even under those conditions, but following protocol and stuffing such befouled clothing in the UV treatment chamber would smear slime all over the chamber and anything else that went in, while spraying it with decontamination chemicals would likely exhaust their supply.

Mikkel pulled off Emil's jacket and hesitated, trying to think what to do. “Forget protocol,” Sigrun said, sounding tired now as the adrenaline high wore off. “There's a stream at the retreat site. We can scrub it and him and me there. Let everything dry in the sun and we're good to go.”

Mikkel nodded, hiding his satisfaction. He could skip the protocol devised by paranoid Icelanders who had _no idea_ what they were facing, without being insubordinate. It had only taken one day to reach that point, and they had many more days to go.

As he sorted gear and clothing and got the others settled rather uncomfortably for the ride, Mikkel stopped for a moment. Here was Emil's Cleansing belt with its small pockets for incendiaries and explosives, four of which were empty. Mikkel called up his memory of Emil as he went into site number 24: those four pockets had contained incendiaries. He checked over the other gear, matching it against his memory. Four incendiaries, one flask of flammable oil, and a flashlight. That was all that was missing.

Mikkel intended to get the story from Emil when they reached the retreat site.


End file.
